Why Is Writing So Hard?

I want to get into a blogging groove. Much like many of the other things I pine for (a car, a bedside chocolate fountain, a Chicago address) it often seems like an unattainable dream. It's an elusive goal, hiding on the other side of a lot of hard work I can't even begin to think how to start upon. Between going to class full-time, working full-time, and whining full-time, I barely have time to catch my breath as it is (God knows I haven't done the dishes in far too long).



I wish my passion involved less self-discipline. Something simple, like loafing, or pinning pictures of koalas. The easiest solution here is to give up on my dreams and focus on my sparkling career as a fast food employee, or join a cult where my burning desire to be a free-thinking individual will be extinguished faster than our ceremonial bonfires.

Every night, I sit down and I try to write, but something always happens. I get distracted by Netflix, or start thinking about how DAMN HARD it is to START writing anything. Maybe I should do what I've done today and just drop any pretense and get to the damn story. The hardest part for all writers is getting started, right? And once you get into that writing flow, it's even harder to stop, isn't it? For people who like writing and like other writers, I recommend a fantastic little blog called Avoiding Atrophy. Particularly this post on creating a workable writing space. Following Christy's tips didn't make me start pumping out best-sellers, but it did inspire me to actually WRITE this blog post, today. That in and of itself is a pretty big accomplishment.

Of course, I did just take a break from this post to look at Lush bath bombs for 15 minutes, but hey, I'm back. And you're welcome for that.

Back to the writing bit: I took 15 minutes today to clear off my desk, make some important notes on my calendar, and just generally tidy up my space. I even added a small lamp so I could feel inspired to actually sit in my chair and get some work done. Maybe it's just me, but my bed makes it way too tempting to just fantasize about a dream wardrobe or lie to myself about my cooking prowess by pinning complicated recipes to my "Edible Bucket List" board. To be honest, sitting here feels nice, and calm and like it's what I should be doing for the rest of my life. It's just up to me to make that happen.


Wish me luck.